


Getting to Know You

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Series: Castiel's Hope [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs, Oral Sex, Smut, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In for a penny, in for a pound...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where a door does its thing

Dean takes himself to Elizabeth’s room, unsure there’s anything he can do for her, or anything he should even offer. _Sammy should be doing this. He’d be thinking clearly. She doesn't need an emotional meathead like me…_

He knocks on her door, quietly saying her name. He hears something inside and calls again a little louder. The door handle rattles a little, he’s tempted to worry…  
“Dean?” Elle says from inside, one hand on the handle and the other on the door.  
“Yeah, you ok?”  
“Yes, uh,…” Dean hears her clear her throat, “you mind if I don’t open the door for a minute?”  
“Totally up to you,” he replies, wishing he could see she’s okay.  
“I’ll just-, I’ll probably think a little more clearly this way.”  
“You want me to get Sam?”  
“No! No, I want to talk to you, please.”  
“Okay. Good.” He’s relieved and waits for her to begin again. She clears her throat.  
“So, just a few quick questions… am I real?”  
“H’yeah, yeah, you’re real Elle.”  
“This is not the matrix.”  
“Nope. Well, I haven’t been offered any pills, so, best I know…”  
“Do I think for myself?” she asked, her voice almost fragile.  
“Yes,” he answered. Dean put his hand on the handle too, sending her strength.  
“Can I choose?”  
“Yes, Elle, you make choices all by yourself,” he answered, resting his head on the door.  
“Does it matter? Will we always end up here?” she asked, voice wavering.  
Dean took a moment to think, and not feel, so he could give her a hopeful answer.  
“Elle, all sorts of assholes have had designs on me and Sam. From the beginning, from before our beginning. The amount of effort put into making us do things as been… literally astronomical. But we still fucked them off. Heaven and hell, Elizabeth, have led us to water over and over again, and we still didn’t drink.”  
“Mmm hmm,” Elle listens, her own forehead pressed against the door, listening to this man trying to pull her out of an existential crisis. _Tell me more, tell me how you choose me…_  
“Elle, you know now, you know what the deal is. You can take what you want from it. Okay? You’re not a pawn.” _C’mon babe,_ he prays, _don’t fall apart!_  
“Yeah, Dean, it’s just…” she takes a moment to sniff and raise her head, “I am such a pawn…. I’m so thirsty, aha.”  
Dean smiles a little, thinking of his own craving. He waits a moment, to see where she wants to go next… “Elle?”  
“I was going to ask you if you think you can change your feelings about me. But I don’t want to know the answer. If you say no, I’ll believe it’s this curse, that you can’t choose, and so maybe I can’t either, and we’re both puppets. If you say yes, even if it proves your strength and gives me hope about my freedom, …that’s not the answer I want.” She puts her hand over her mouth to keep from breaking into tears, but goes on…  
“Dean, I don’t think I can change how I feel about you-”  
“Please let me in Elle-”  
“That really won’t help Dean-“  
“Please, I don’t wanna talk through a door. I promise I’ll keep my distance if you want.”  
 _Of course I don’t, you great muppet,_ thinks Elle. But she has more to say, and this is beginning to feel silly.

She wraps her arms around herself and walks back toward the bathroom, saying “okay” once she’s happy with the distance. Dean comes in, surprising her with how he fills the doorway, her brain completely distracted by the way he looks at her – full of concern and worry – and she instantly feels guilty for not being more robust about all this. “Just. Stand there. For a bit. Please,” she pleads. He flashes his palms at her in acceptance. She continues…  
“You’re in a no-win situation. I don’t believe your affection for me is genuine. It’s prescribed. There are women, many women according to that prophet, who are better suited to you than me-”  
“Elle, those women-”  
“I don’t care how many people you’ve slept with. I really don’t,” Elle says forcefully. She really couldn’t care less, this conversation isn’t about that. “I just… I make no sense for you.”  
Dean takes a moment to think of a different angle…  
“How do you feel about me?” Dean asks.  
“What? You can’t tell?!” Elle exclaims, amazed.  
“Well, you know!” Dean says more loudly, accidentally being angry when he means embarrassed. “I’m a hopeful guy, aren’t I?! I can’t see straight!”  
“Well, I think you’re fucken awesome!” she says, matching his volume.  
“Well okay then!” he yells.  
“But that makes sense Dean!” she says, “You are awesome! You’re smart and sweet and strong and brave and ridiculously handsome and just about everything any woman would want. Me falling for you is not mysterious.”  
“Wait, Elle, do you have any idea what a catch you are?”  
“I’m not fishing for compliments Dean!”  
“No, I didn’t think you were but… I didn’t’ suspect anything Elle!” Dean declares, pleading with her. “I fell for you without any hesitation. I haven’t wondered why my eyes are stuck on you. Not once!”  
“But maybe you’re not meant to wonder, Dean! How do you _know_?!” Elizabeth cries, coming back to her point, and she closes her eyes to calm. Unconsciously, Dean steps towards her and she points at him, “Stop…” and he stops.  
“How do you know that feeling isn’t part of the con? How do you know it won’t wear off? How do you know someone else can’t turn it off? What if one of us has chosen and the other is bewitched?...” Elizabeth reels off, listing all the questions she’s collected since talking with Castiel. “How do we keep ourselves from heartbreak? Is there any point, at all, resisting the spell if it makes us miserable?-”  
“That one!” Dean points at her, “That’s the question I can answer!”  
“Yeah? Will it help me sleep?”  
He takes another step toward her, holding her gaze, his face relaxed and open. Her own matches him.  
“I think we should go for it,” he says, taking a moment before… breaking into a smile.  
“Oreally,” she says.  
“No, seriously, Elle… these curses, they’re to please other people. They don’t care how it affects us. They literally do not care how we feel unless it works for them. We can make this what we want, we can choose the quality of it. And if we agonise over whether to act on these feelings, or if it hurts while we resist it, they don’t give a flying crap about that either. And all that suffering? It doesn’t change a thing.”  
He takes another step, close enough for her to tilt her head a little to look him in the eye. She wraps her arms around herself again, just to keep them busy. When he speaks again, he pleads, hoping he can finally bring her over.  
“For my money, Elle, I get enough suffering. Right now, I don’t need you to believe my feelings are my choice. Not yet. But I’ll be damned if I’m gunna miss a single minute of being with a woman who makes me feel like this.”


	2. Thanks giving

Elizabeth had taken a full minute to think. Dean began feeling nervous after about 8 seconds – he’d been pacing for the next 52, his silence taking all his effort. It was quite a test.  
“Okay,” she decides, “I’ll stay.”  
“Yuh! Well, yeah, you don’t really have a choice there!” he thought aloud, almost ready to pop from tension.  
“Really?” she asks, feeling indignant.  
Dean stops pacing, and squares off to her, pointing at her bed with muscles strained. “I have no trouble, at all, with cuffing you to your bed just to keep you safe,” he says.  
Elizabeth blushes, puts her hands on her hips and drops her head. “That is such a confusing statement.”  
“Yeah,.. sorry,” he admits, shoulders dropping.  
“Maybe… maybe you should go,” she says, looking at him sideways from one eye. He looks at her, awkwardly and begins to speak. “Dean, I would really like for you to stay, okay, but I’ve been crying, a lot, my head’s full of grim stories, and I’m really tired.  I feel manky and confused and it’s just not an appealing state and… I think-”  
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s cool. I’m gone,” Dean says, “but I’m going to my room. I’ll be on my bed not 15 feet from you, okay? You just call if you need me.”  
“That’s nice to know,” Elle smiles, and relaxes a little, “really nice.” It’s a new smile and it makes Dean’s heart skip a beat. He doesn’t recognise it, but it’s the feeling of being in something with someone.

* * *

Elizabeth missed dinner that night, sleeping right through the afternoon, according to Dean’s near-hourly checks. The next morning the boys are early but haven’t left the bunker and Elizabeth runs into them in the kitchen. She missed all of Sam’s breakfast courses deciding between a tee-shirt and her white business shirt. She walks in on them cleaning up the meal.  
“Hey, that’s my job! You’re stealing my livelihood there!”  
Dean is completely distracted by the loose button-up, the way the rolled up sleeves show off her arms, the way the collar frames her neck...  
“Hey, hey yourself,” Sam greets, cheesily. “How are you doing?”  
“Well, turns out I’m real and I’m human. It’s a bit pedestrian really,” she jokes dryly, going for the kettle, stealing some cold toast.  
“Could be worse. You could be real and unhuman,” he quips.  
“You’ll have to tell me more about that soon,” she points.  
Dean comes to and manages to join in on the conversation. “Did you sleep okay?”  
“Yeah, I did,” Elle stops, clearing her mouth, “I thought I‘d have a head full of nightmares, but I slept like a baby log. All good dreams.” She caught Dean’s eye, smiling a little at the few images she could catch upon waking. She turns to Sam saying “By the way...”  
Elle steps up to Sam and wraps her arms around his torso, well above his cut, giving him a strong hug. He’s surprised, but rests his arms on her back. Her head barely comes up to his chin. “Thank you,” she says, “for everything you’ve done.”  
“Aw, that’s ok Elle. I-”  
Sam’s cut off by Elle changing her mind. She reaches around behind his arm, hooking a hand on his shoulder, and hoiks herself up so she can hug him properly. She even wraps her legs around him to get a better hold. “You deserve a proper hug.”  
“Hey! Woah! Woawoawoawoah-“ Dean points, then begins waving his hands in front of himself, “Words are enough! Words are enough!!”  
Sam wraps his arms around Elizabeth to hold her up and turns so he can see Dean, with Elle’s body between them. She pulls her head back and gives him a warm kiss on the cheek, then goes back to hugging.  
“You. Are. Very. Very. Welcome. Elizabeth,” Sam says, smiling smugly at Dean, who throws his arms up and turns away. “Great!” he laments, “I’m betrothed to a hussy!” He sits down and opens up a book between himself and the scene.  
“So this is why we rope climb in gym…” Elle thinks aloud.  
“Not even funny,” Dean yells out.  
Sam gives her a kiss on the cheek too, then helps her climb down. “Till next time,” he points.  
“Any time.”  
Sam collects his laptop, and whispers to Dean “She smells nice,” before leaving them to it.

Elle leans against the kitchen counter, finishes her toast and crosses her arms, waiting for Dean to emerge.  
“You can’t do that to me, you know,” he says, still behind the book.  
“Oh?”  
“You just can’t. I’ll cry. I don’t think I can watch you be all...” he drops the book, gesturing “cute, with someone else. Not even Sam.”  
“Oh, that’s a pity. I’ll have to thank Cass at some stage. I have so much thanks.”  
“NO! Nnno. Not like that,” he says, standing. “Send flowers, or something, no hugs and kisses.”  
“But Dean, he brought me to you! Aren’t you thankful?!”  
“Yyyyeah,” Dean tries to tread carefully, “but not _that_ thankful, you know?” She mocks shocked and puts her hand to her chest, mouthing a dramatic “Oh!” Dean smiles peevishly and nods: _Yeah, yeah,_ he thinks, _I screwed that up, ok, thank you._  
“Well, you will be,” she comments, turning to grab a mug.

As she prepares her coffee, a glass of orange juice appears in front of her. “Thanks,” she says, taking a sip.  
“You should finish that, you’ve had a big few days, no dinner…” he comments, practically supervising, leaning a hand on the counter.  
“Really? You always this hands on with your girlfriends?”  
Dean’s distracted by the flirt, and the girlfriend reference. He smiles and waits for her to finish the juice…  
She skulls the rest. He collects it from the counter and puts it in the sink. Elle turns back to her cuppa. “Since when did OJ become such an important part of the day?”  
“Since you’re going to miss your breakfast,” he says. Before Elle can even raise an eyebrow she feels Dean’s breath on her neck, his fingertips on her waist, under her shirt, and she freezes.  
He says quietly, right behind her ear, “I’ve known you two days… but I think I’ve imagined about a dozen different ways to do this part.” He places his hands flat across her stomach, feeling all her muscles quiver, and watches the skin on her neck prickle. She places her hands on the counter, closing her eyes.  
“Well, I met you weeks ago-” Elle confesses.  
“How so?” Dean asks, eyes running over the buttons of her shirt.  
She shakes her head a little, smiling with embarrassment. “I eavesdropped...” she whispers dramatically, hamming up her pathetic revelation.  
“Huh…”  
“I’ve just been…[clears throat] working with your voice… in my own time, so to speak…”  
“Mmm?”  
“…you give really good instructions. Apparently. Really clear, _specific_ instructions.”  
“Oh, that’s going to last me a while,” he moans and buries his smile in her neck, on her right, his left hand coming up to cradle her jaw, tilting her head back for access, wrapping his right arm around her waist as far as he can. Elle feels herself be collected; smooth cheeks on her neck, warm lips on her skin, the stubble of his short hair tickling her ear. She lets her head rest on his shoulder and presses on his hugging arm for warmth. Soon she notices his tongue tasting her as he kisses, small licks, some nibbles. She breaths deeply, trying to feel everything. Elle slowly notices she’s moving involuntarily, slightly working herself against him. She opens her eyes, realising that she doesn’t want to do this here…

“Dean,” she almost whispers.  
“Mmm?”  
Elle pulls herself forward and he eases his grip.  
“How many of those dozen ways happen here?”  
He does a quick mental check. “At least three... Three and a half.”  
“Let’s start with the other eight and a half, yeah?” she requests, turning to face him.  
“Yes ma’am,” he says, going back to her neck. He leans down, collecting the back of her knees with his left arm, sweeping her off the ground. She gasps, embarrassed, having never been carried like this before.  
“You sure?” she checks.  
“What? Yeah, ‘course,” he laughs. “You don’t have to hold on so tight you know. You’re light.”  
“Yeah, well, my room isn’t that close,” she comments cynically.  
“Pfft,” Dean smirks, making his way through the door. “So, your room, is it?”  
“Yahuh. I’ve got a bathroom. And snacks,” she explains, relaxing a little, “no contest.”  
“Well, well,” Dean smiles slyly, “you have thought about this.”  
“Weeks, Dean. It’s been fucking weeks.” She pushes away any doubt about whether they should do anything: _There’s too much I don’t know... and so few things I feel sure of. Like this._ It had been some time since she felt her future could be saved; why ruin the present? Elle runs her fingers along his neck, around the edge of his hair, over his ear. He gives an involuntary shiver, and pulls her closer.

At her room Dean stands her on the ground and lets her in. Following closely, door quickly slammed, Dean grabs her around the waist again and pulls her in for a go at the other side of her neck, his spare hand pulling back the collar of her shirt for access. They curve into the hold, bowing into him, and she struggles to keep her balance. Straightening up a little, Dean slows down, letting his breath fall over her. He kisses up the left of her neck, to the back of her ear, returning the favour of the shiver. Elle tilts her head for him and looks down at his hand in hers. She runs her mind over the firm, warm pressure along the back of her body, lets it take up her mind and push out all else. He takes a moment to look over the horizon of her face, the drop by her jaw line, the rise of her cheek, her eyelash, the fine browline, and kisses just below her ear, collecting her earlobe. They sway slightly.  
“Dean?”  
“Elle.”  
“This is nice.”  
“Is there something wrong with nice?” he whispers, teasing his lips against her ear.  
“No… maybe I meant… slow…” she clarifies, shifting her head toward him for more.  
“I’m savouring,” he mumbled into her hair. “…don’t you want to savour?”  
“Sort of. Can’t we allocate savouring to another time? Like, the third time. Or the 7th …just the primes?”  
Dean smiles at her frustration. He hugs her with his left arm, including her right arm in the wrap. He holds her free hand, running his thumb down the fingers. He turns it over, circling in her palm, both of them watching it.  
“Tell you what,” he murmurs into her ear, “we’ll take turns being in charge.”  
“Ah,” she says, straightening herself. “You think you’re going first.”  
He ducks his right hand under her shirt hem and grasps her hip, then skims his finger on the skin above the low-rise waistband, just inside the dip, threatening a tickle.  
“Fight me for it?” he growls, the dare electrifying her. He watches her for the reaction: she flicks her eyes up, a slight breathless smile, her mind lost in what that would be like.  
Elle considers for a moment. _I’ll likely end up in cuffs…_ “Let’s do that the fourth time.”


	3. Where doors do their other thing

Dean takes a solid hold of both Elizabeth’s hips, mouth to her neck, and swiftly walks her the two steps to the door. She catches herself against it, hands by her shoulders, and she turns her head to the left, towards Dean’s face. He presses himself against her, his forehead at her temple, her belly to the cold paint. Elle closes her eyes and swallows the contrast of chilled door on her chest to radiant heat at her shoulders. He slides his hands up her ribs, then back down her sides, slipping one hand right around the front of her leg and dragging it back along her inner thigh. She takes advantage of the space made by him bending down and pushes herself back, hips first, half defiant, half begging. She feels a distinct hardness.  
Dean spins her around, arms caging her against the door still. “I’m driving, remember?” he says, standing over her, pinning her down with his glare, as close as can be without touching. One hand comes down to her shirt, picking the first button undone, then the second.  
“Well, I look forward to getting out of second gear,” she taunted.  
Dean fights to keep hold of a disapproving frown, but it’s a fleeting show. Their mouths connect just as his hands collect the back of her head. He pulls her from the door, her hands going to his waist, but he thinks better of it, his arm catching their weight before they slam against the wood again. Elle makes a noise at the impact, and Dean takes a moment to say, without giving any space “You let me know if I hurt you.” “You’ll know,” she replied, and bit his lip to signal she was okay, before diving back into the kiss. Dean flicks his tongue over her bottom lip, licking hers along its centre, his hands over her ears trying to bring her in, to make her closer. Elle collects the edge of his t-shirt and runs her hands up his back, noticing the rippling terrain. She brings them back to his belly, dragging her fingertips up his waist. He twitches at the tickle and she smiles inside his hold. She keeps travelling up, fingers tracing the edge of embossed muscles, heading for the arm pits, but he catches her wrist just as she gets lucky. Before breaking the kiss, but not the closeness, they both open their eyes for a moment, spying mischievous glints. She feels his other hand at her chest, firmly dragging a finger down between her breasts, almost to her belly. He then kisses her deeply and dives his hand down, cupping her crotch and rippling pressure down the length of his reach. Elle lets out a noise, as best she can from under the kiss, grasping the wrist as he works. He eases off and begins at her jeans, Elle helping blindly. He lets go her arm and collects the back of her neck, gently pulling her up so he can kiss under her chin, down her neck, unbuttoning her shirt to show the way. He stops at her open waistband and collects the fabric, easing it over her hips. Elle closes her eyes, enjoying the tickle of him against her stomach and shimmies a little to help with the work. She can feel his closeness around her legs, his warmth radiating.

Dean’s on one knee, her legs neatly between his, jeans now under foot. He looks up at her for a moment and notices something. “Hey, your panties don’t match.”  
“Fuckin’ what?” Elle looks down, interrupted.  
“Your bra is all lacy, your panties are plain.”  
“Dude. They’re both black.” Dean’s a little surprised at her defensiveness, but decides to play it up a little…  
“Well, yeah but…”  
“You fuckin’ shitting me? Is there anything wrong with my undies?”  
“Other than calling them undies, no.”  
“I’m still living out of a suitcase!”  
“They’re cute! A bit old, but… not lacy.”  
“Okeydokey, well, next time you want to pause on your way to good fortune and admire the bloody packaging,” she says, one hand cupping his chin, the other with finger up for emphasis, “consider what sort of message you’re sending? Mkay?”  
“Hey, sexy underwear is sexy.”  
She leans in a little. “ _Sex_ is sexy. Eye on the ball, Sunshine.”  
“Fair point,” he smiles slyly, giving up the game, and begins to kiss her leg.  
“ _The_ point,” Elle says, shaking her head. Then, after a beat, “You know what? I’m mad, get me my pants,” she heckles, re-buttoning her shirt.  
“No!” Dean pops up, grabbing both her arms, “I can work with this,” and he pushes his face against her pants, nuzzling the softness, kissing as low as he can, stirring her up with his nose and chin. Elle lets out an “Uh!” as he works against her, curling over with surprise and pleasure. He releases her hands and they snap to the back of his head, smoothing up his shoulders and neck. He grabs at the hip of her worn but comfy undies and rips the side seam. “Oh what?” she asks, realising what he’s done. “Call it a compromise,” he grins, and stops for a minute appreciating the view: a soft, delicate patch of skin is revealed, and the edge of some hair is showing. Dean pulls her from the door and they fall away some more. Elle pretends the tails of her shirt cover her more than they really do.  
Dean slowly slides the fabric down her other leg. He kisses inside of her pelvis and she flinches as he triggers a ticklish patch, almost kneeing him in the gut. “Ooh, a weakness!” he notes, nuzzling aggressively. “No! Ah! No-no!” Elle begs, wishing she could switch it off. Loving his fingers spread wide on her cheek, the other gripping her hip bone still, she’s surprised at how little wriggle room she has in his hands.  
“Dean, I’m about to grab your ears!” she warns between struggles. A sigh of warm air puffs across her crotch. “Fine. That’s your freebie.”  
“Very generous,” she says, smiling down at him, “but I’m sure you have your weakness too, you know.”  
“Nope,” he says casually, watching his palm slide from ribs to thigh, “not one.”  
Elle draws her finger along his jawline and Dean looks up at her smugly. “The first time you had my peach pie you said, and I quote, ‘that was just sex.’”  
“One of my favourite days,” he idles.  
“Not a metaphor, Dean.”  
It takes him a moment… his hands stop while his brain works… “You’d take away pie?”  
“Try me.”

His face falls serious, thinking, almost pouting. He settles his arm around her leg, shoulder to her thigh, and he adjusts his kneel, his other hand stroking her hair. Elle almost shudders from the point of contact. “Please don’t take away pie,” he says sadly, looking up at her. Elle notices the growing firmness of his hold and begins to get nervous about what’s coming. “I’d be so sad,” he goes in for a gentle kiss, “I look forward to it,” he darts his tongue into the top of her crease, then again and slides it down. She catches her breath high in her chest. His finger retraces the path, twice, tweaking, collecting wetness, feeling warmth, then keeps heading south. Elizabeth moans shortly, wets her mouth, looks at him and waits. “Pie makes such a difference to my day,” he says, before putting that finger into his mouth, sucking the length of it and directly slipping it into Elle’s body. She bends over again, hands at his head, unaware of her gasps. Dean takes his tongue back to that spot and holds it there, hands paused. He waits, listening for her, and hears a short hum as she adjusts. He sucks on her crease, collecting the small lump he feels behind it, and Elle’s beginning to feel her knees go.  
“Dean,” Elle says quietly. He doesn’t answer but massages her mound with his mouth and chin, licking her folds, nibbling at times. She lets out an ‘oh’ and he pauses. When she tries for his attention again he places a solid sucking kiss upon her, and pumps his hand, knuckle-deep, finger slightly curling – “DeeEEAN!-uh,” Elle leans on him.  
“Yeah baby?” he asks casually.  
“Please take me to the bed,” she asks, eyes still closed, mouth dry.  
He drags a full lick up her wet warmth, her thighs twitching as he flicks off her clitoris. She notices the tip of another finger near the other and, before she ends up beyond words, she thumps him on the back with a fist. “Please! Dean! Bed!” is all she can string together.  
He removes his hand and drags it up the front of her pelvic bone as he slowly stands, kissing her mouth hungrily. “Soon,” he promises, not wanting to give an inch, but gives Elle a few breaths to recover and cool.

Dean presses against her again and moves his hands to her waist, firmly holding her around the ribs. He nudges her chin aside and practically gnaws at her behind her ear. Elle’s forced to turn her head as he grazes on her neck. “So, you gonna take my pie?” he growls threateningly. Dean starts to bite between the kisses and licks, but she isn’t scared. “I’ll give you _my_ pie… until you give me…ah! a reason to stop.” Dean pauses and lifts his head. Elle watches him as he leans over her, towering and surveying the redness he’s left, ravenous for more. She wishes she could pause time. His gaze travels back up to her eyes and he begins to remind her “Woman, you don’t actually have lev-” “Bite me,” she scowls. He slips his arm behind her, a handful of shirt being pulled down her back, and pushes her up enough to get a quick mouthful of her upper shoulder. Elle cries out at the pain, teeth scratching her skin, and thinks of how there’ll be an embarrassingly telling mark later. Instantly, he kisses the area, smearing her body against his to mask the discomfort and whispers “As you wish.”  
“You fucker,” she grumbles. Dean tsks into her neck in reply.

She lifts his shirt a little to feel his belly against her own. “You’re wearing too much,” she murmurs. “What are you going to take off?”  
“Uh, I guess my-”  
“Shirt,” she demands. Dean raises an eyebrow and begins to ask. “If you want me to make it to the bed, do just the shirt.”  
He kisses her all over again, and pulls his shirt over his head between pecks. “HoShit!” Elle squeaks and, without even thinking, flicks off the light. It’s pitch dark.  
“What are you doing?”  
She flicks the light back on. “Sorry. Sorry about that. Slight panic. Never been this close to an underwear model before. Is that what you model?” Elle asks, beginning to babble, “Underwear? Or maybe just air? You could sell air.”    
Dean gets in close to her, nose to nose. She bumps back against the door. She looks down, fingers heading for his waist. Dean’s deciding where to go next. She checks his expression and kisses him on the cheek, then the jaw, then under his ear, then his neck, the dip of his collarbone. She feels him breathe deeply and tilt for her. As she kisses along the bones her small hands rest on his shoulders, discovering what seems to be a large burn mark on one. She ignores it and nudges him with her breasts and belly. He closes his eyes.

Elle moves down for a lower kiss, one that takes more of a taste, at the top of his chest, right above a circular tattoo. She keeps her pressure against him as she lowers herself. Her kisses move down, as do her hands, aiming to land on a nipple when she grips his backside but-  
“No,” he says gently, his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back.  
Elle’s surprised and goes to ask if he’s ok, but his face isn’t hurt, or sad, or anything but smouldering.


	4. Soft Surfaces

“Sorry, I believe I let go of the wheel for a while there,” and Dean steps in to lift her up. “You said you needed a bed?”  
“Mmm,” Elle agrees, and looks back down at his chest, which she was so enjoying, “but-” and is stopped with a kiss. He’s collected her waist with one arm, and she delights in him grabbing her arse with the other, pinning her thigh to him with his elbow.

As he turns around, Elle takes the chance to undo her bra. Whatever his plans were, Dean takes the opportunity. He kneels on the bed, Elle in his arms and on his lap, and pushes the cups aside with his face, nudging and kissing her softness. He slides her shirt off one shoulder, and she pulls out her arm as he slips off the strap, kissing the skin now revealed. Dean collects her breast in his hand as he kisses down its length. She slides off the shirt completely, slips out of the bra and pulls it from between them. Rocking herself forward, and pulling his face up for a deep kiss, Elle enjoys the smooth heat of his torso against hers, large hands on her back, his jeans still full. She drops her hand to the belt buckle. They both quickly get his pants undone and he grunts a little at the relief.

Then Dean tricks her into showing off her body. He kisses Elle under the chin, tilting her head back, supporting it with his hand and slips his other hand back down between her legs, his thumb and finger gently working in the wetness. Lost in the sensation, she arches her back and lets herself slowly fall backward. He kisses down her chest, over her breast, running his eyes along her highest points as they roll away, finally lowering her flat by her waist.

Dean follows her, trailing kisses up her tummy, and she pulls him up by the waist, carelessly nudging her breasts with her own elbows. He dives into the warmth, then heads for a nipple, gently licking and sucking. Elle gasps at it, feeling the teeth around the tongue, his fingers ghosting over her waist and around the curve of her breast. He comes up to her face, looking into her eyes, kissing her once, twice. He has an overwhelming desire to say something, but the only thing he can think of is too big, and he won’t do it. His brain trips over it and he gets stuck studying this woman, wishing he could describe…

Elle tugs at the loops on his jeans and he slips a thumb under to start them off. Hooking her big toe into a pocket, she slips them all the way down in one long move, leaving only boxers.  
“Hey, that’s handy,” he smiles, glad for some comment to fill the void.  
“Footsy,” she corrects.  
Elle hadn’t noticed any gap. She’s completely occupied mapping him, seeing him, and completely electrified by his moments of control.  
Dean gazes at her, thinking for a minute about how this is going. He looks down, over her light shape, wondering how, when he had every intention of ravishing her and sharing an amazing fuck, he keeps slipping into slow, soft moments. He’s a bit annoyed he can’t stay on track, but he can’t seem to stay annoyed either.

While he hangs besides her, taking an eyeful, Elle does her best to relax and not cover herself. She focuses on him and the excellent view. As much as she’d hoped for a thumping good first time with Dean, she’s also enjoying these slow-mo moments. But he does take his time…  
“You okay?” she checks, her hand brushing over his cheek.  
“You betcha baby,” he smiles, deciding it’s time to shift gear.  
“Imagining lacy undies?”  
“No… nope. If I had my way I’d burn them all.”  
“You could. Spontaneous combustion,” she says in mock seriousness. Dean is momentarily puzzled. “Those eyes, that mouth and just a little friction,” Elle explains, pinching his fingertip.  Then she makes a whoomping sound, like ignition.  
“Ohno,” he laughs, “oh god, that was… _terrible_.”  
Dean watches her try to stifle her laughter, and grins. He has a happy, beautiful woman in bed with him, for him. Her eyes sparkle at him and he crashes a kiss into her. “I love your giggle,” he says, letting his eyes travel down, “but, right now, I prefer your moans.”  Her chuckles dissolve into hums and she lovingly cups his chin.

Dean moves himself in between Elle’s legs and, keeping her eyes locked on his, lays himself down over her like an unbreaking wave. She takes in her breath and eases under his form, drinking in the heat. Elle can’t help but rise to meet him for a kiss. She wraps her legs around him, one over his backside, the other looped around his leg. He leans his elbows beside her, hands caressing at her hair and cheeks as they kiss and taste each other, over and over.

Making a mental note to come back to this place, Dean breaks away. “So,” he says, “I’m not done,” and he pecks her on the mouth before sliding down.  
“Wait, Dean,” Elle frets, “done with what?”  
“With you,” he says and he settles himself between her legs. “How do you keep forgetting? Driver picks the music.” Dean settles himself kneeling on his jeans on the floor, at the end of the bed, and drags Elle close enough to the edge so that her knees are off the mattress. His breath lands right below her belly. He caresses her between her legs, along the edge of her thigh, smoothing her hair. She begins to panic a little.  
“Uh, Dean,” she tries to explain, “I’m not sure I’m built for everyth- mmm” He’s drawing his finger inside the edge of her lips, tracing all the creases, and ignoring her words. His pressure builds.  
Elle knows she’ll tip over the edge at this; everything feels so much more intense than it ever has before, so demanding of her body. Half of her banter has been to help herself relax. She’s worried she’ll be knocked out before the main event. She tries again. “I’ve never really, huh,...” but she can feel him hold her lips open, she can feel his words.  
“Let’s just see how we go, yeah?” he suggests.  
“Uh,.. shit,… I-” and the rest is taken by her gasp as he closes in on her.

Kissing and flicking that button, he notices her thigh muscles twitch again, and he can’t help but begin to suck rhythmically, drawing out her pleasure. He starts alternating randomly between nibbles and flicks, occasionally drawing her into his mouth again, massaging around, working on what’s below the surface. Dean shifts one thigh over his shoulder and turns the other out. He threads a finger into her, while he works and hears her ache in response.  
“Dean,” she says, for no particular reason. He hums back, Elle drops her jaw and squeezes her eyes at his deep voice thrumming. She says his name again, hoping for a repeat, and he obliges, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

A second finger joins in and Elle arches her back in encouragement, requesting depth. He obliges, beginning to pump steadily. She doesn’t want to handle his head in case she hurts him, so grabs at the hand on her thigh. Dean lets go of her leg and gives her something to grip as she bears down on his effort. Soon he’s working her in sync, adding something every few phrases – more pressure, some tickles, flicking harder – making her call out with her breath. By the time he curves his fingers, finding a triggering depth, Elle is pulling at the bedclothes, moving with him, and gasping for sheer relief.  
Dean, mercifully, decides to follow through. Speeding up only slightly, giving her pleasure to work with, he soon feels her tighten on him and he brings her crashing. Elle rides through a shuddering high, waves of pleasure flooding over her, unaware of anything else.

He slows it all down, removes his hand, and supports her legs as he kisses her back to calm. She takes both hands to her belly, pressing gently above her hair and breathes, sometimes humming through it, trying to still herself. She’s conscious that there’s something yet to be done. Dean takes the moments she is occupied to whip off his boxers, dig out the little packet from his jeans and slip on some protection. He waits for her.

Elle puts a hand to her forehead. “You okay?” she asks. She doesn’t know him well enough to be sure about why she’s getting so much attention… _Is he putting it off? Is this what he prefers? Or is he really giving? Maybe he’s a masochist…_  
“Never better,” Dean answers. She’s asking _me_ if I’m okay? “You?”  
She shuffles herself up the bed with her elbows, inelegant though it is. “Ooooh, I make do.”  
Dean crawls over her legs, kissing up her length, hoping she’s not spent. As she opens her eyes to him, she seems happy, awake, and he settles above her.  
Elle runs her hands up his arms as they tower by shoulders, skipping the scars, and tries to read his expression. She rubs her thigh up the inside of his while his body cages her. He seems intense and needing.  
“I just… don’t know where to start with you,” he says coming down to kiss her, bodies untouching. “I’m paralysed for choice.”  
Elle runs her hands over him, and nudges him with her knee to let them swap their legs, hers now on the outside. He nibbles at her jaw. “Start at the end,” she whispers into his ear. “We can do the beginning over and over, but I’d really like the end now,” she explains pulling his head around for eye contact, “please.” She sees a fleeting feeling of thanks over his face, quickly followed by open desire.

For barely a moment, she feels Dean there, right where he should be. He rests his lips on hers for a gentle kiss, almost completely paused. Then he plunges, whole body diving, and she barely hears him over her own gasps, barely gasping over his consuming kiss. He pushes for depth, over and over, bucking his hips to give more, inhaling sharply at the clawing on his back, moaning at the sensation of her, the friction, the fit. Foreheads pressed together, they find a rhythm.  
Dean can’t get past how uniquely good she feels, and struggles to stretch it out. Elle opens her eyes a moment and sees his brow furious. She recognises the intensity, and some confusion, and wishes she could say something soothing. But he collects her leg, hand under knee, tilting her hips sharply, and she cries out at the sensation, that sweet spot being nudged each time. Lost in his smell, their sweat, and the bliss of him filling her so thoroughly, she holds his head to her neck and lets him, finally, drive.

Dean kisses her, nipping and moaning against her. He quickly works his lips back up to her mouth and, fast, almost stumbling, pushing her to orgasm, he lets her vibrations take him home, both of them trembling through it and desperately close.

They slow to a walk, breathing heavily and taking their time to eventually stop. Elle guides Dean’s head to her chest, shifting his weight down a little, hugging him and stroking his hair. He rests freely, one arm around her, the other on her leg. As they get their breath back, they both occasionally caress each other, Dean pecking small kisses when he shifts position.

At some point they both wonder how long it’s been, Dean raising his head sleepily. He notices her skin is goose-bumped, and she smiles at him while she starts to tremble. He slips away, cleaning things up in the bathroom, and Elle gets herself under the covers, lifting them up for him when he returns.  
They settling into a messy tangle, him on her chest again, her arm cradling his head, his body lying across her leg, arms wherever they fit, both doomed to wake up achy and with at least one still-sleeping limb.


	5. Bikkies

Elizabeth doesn’t remember them shifting, but she wakes up with Dean spooning around her, snoring a bit. She sneaks away, collecting a fresh pair of undies and a singlet, before a quick bathroom visit and a drink of water. She pours one for Dean too and leaves it on the bedside table with an open box of sweet biscuits. She leaves the bathroom light on and the door slightly ajar.

She pauses before crawling into bed to look at Dean again, properly. She’s still amazed at the package he is, especially when she considers her own ordinariness, but Elle’s been using her happiness to keep old insecurities at bay. _Let’s not insult the nice man’s taste by putting ourselves down, yes?_  
When she crawls back under the covers, she lays facing him, with a little space allowed so she can working on committing the image to memory.  
Dean’s arm slides over, looking for her. He discovers her hand, resting in front of her body. “Everything okay?” he asks, opening his eyes to check.  
“Yeah, I’m good,” she smiles.  
“Why are you over there?” he frowns, considering she might be having second thoughts.  
“Better view,” she answers simply. He closes his eyes again, relaxing, but pulls her over with a hand in the middle of her back. Elle tries to control her swooning. _It’s just everything you do is so… seductive_.  
“Why did you put on clothes? Can we change that habit please?” he whines between the pillow and her head.  
“Shouldn’t be too hard. There aren’t many undies left,” Elle comments, snuggling into his form. Dean reaches down, collecting the back of her fresh pair with all four fingers and pulls them over her backside, threatening to rip them too. “Hey! No! Nnno! My pants! No breaking!” she scolds, fighting to keep him from going lower. He lets go but begins sliding his hand over her cheeks, her hip and wakes up enough to work on the other side, trying to get access.  
“Dean,” she says, half enjoying the struggle.  
“What? Am I supposed to be getting up?” he mumbles, lifting his head.  
“No, it’s like, 12:30am,” she answers, helplessly smiling at him.  
He kisses her, “G’morning beautiful.”  
“Hey gorgeous,” she greets and they slither into a kiss that wraps them together. “Bikkie?” she offers, reaching for the box.  
“’Bikkie’?! It’s a cookie. But you should keep saying bikkie, that’s fucking adorable,” Dean comments, biting into one. “Do men say bikkie in your country?”  
“Biscuits and cookies are different,” Elle explains, mouth full of bikkie.  
“Yeah, I know. Biscuits go with gravy and-”  
“Those are scones. Sometimes puddings. Also different.”  
“No, well, yes. But so are biscuits.”  
“Biscuits are cut cookies. They have a defined shape. Cookies are dropped onto the pan.”  
“Am I in over my head?”  
“Not only are you drowning, we’d probably never agree anyway because culture,” Elle remarks, finish off her second.  
He downs a drink, completing a terribly domestic moment. Once again, Right-Now Dean wonders what Week-Ago Dean would say…

They lay wrapped together under the covers and he slides his free hand down her back…  
“Please get these pants off! ” He breaks away, announcing dramatically. “They’re just… I’m offended. And this singlet. What are you trying to say?”  
“I get cold easily?”  
“Oh,” he smiles slyly, “you forgot to turn yourself on…” he reaches down, “See? Here, flick this switch-”  
“Ah shit, get out of it!” Elle smacks his hand away and points a finger at his face “You give me a break ok?” He grins a crooked grin, practically predatory as he leans over her, and she can feel him growing with interest.  
Elle tries to think of a way to explain things, without embarrassing herself, while he looms considering her body anew… “It’s not fair, Dean. I’ve hadn’t had my turn yet. I don’t know… about you…” He’s already settled himself between her legs. Only one of them is wearing pants.  
“You think I’m going to let you have a go, do you?” he smirks, using that challenging growl that turned her on so much last night. He runs a finger along the hemline by her thigh.  
Elle collects his face firmly with one hand, fingers and thumb on his cheeks, and gets some eye contact. “Deny me the wheel and you’ll shoot yourself in the fuck.”  
“That’s the best mixed metaphor I’ve heard in a while…” he says though a slightly smooshed mouth.  
“Consider the sacrifice, for a moment…” and he thinks while she releases his head…  
“It’s just so hot when you like what I do to you,” he explains, licking his lips as he traces her breast through the singlet. “It’s such a turn on, to make you… noisy.”  
“It’s nice?” Elle asks, “Rewarding?” He nods emphatically and goes to say more but she continues sternly. “Well, that’s terribly selfish of you, Dean, to keep that opportunity from me.”  
He pulls back, shocked a little at the rebuke from left field. He can’t tell how serious she is and doesn’t know what to say.  
“Why would you deny me the pleasure of satisfying you?” she asks, unconsciously using a teacher voice. “Do you not want me to be happy?”  
He looks like a puppy who’s been donked with a balloon. Flummoxed.  
“Well?...” Elle asks, shifting her body beneath him, teasing with contact, “How many kinds of happiness am I allowed, Dean?”  
“It’s not that, I just-” he tries, but Elle gently lays her whole hand over his face saying “Ssssh- shhh-shhh, little grasshopper.” She feels him smile beneath her palm, and takes her hand down to his chest, saying sagely “You will learn. In time.” Then she circles his nipple with her finger, making him recoil. He snatches her hand and slides his fingers between hers, delighted in her sense of humour, her willingness to fight, and kisses her with a smile he can’t shake.

“One tick,” she says and dashes off to grab another condom. “I’m not taking any chances.”  
Elle tosses it to him and, as he carefully tears it open with his teeth, she undresses. “Finally!” he jokes, referring to the clothes, “See? Wasn’t that rewarding?”  
“It’s about to be,” she smiles, and she takes the condom and gently smooths it on for them, deciding to not play around. She settles into a close hold, his hardness between them as they lay side by side.  
“You’re not going to drive this time?” he checks.  
“Hmmmm, next time. Let’s go freestyle,” she suggests, wrapping a leg around him and running her fingers over his stomach.  
“Yes ma’am,” he agrees, pulling her in for a long kiss. “Goddam, you’re awesome.”  
Hands collecting each other, fingers running lightly, he nudges a bit before entering her, both of them murmuring through the pleasure. This time, it’s a much smoother act, much closer to love-making, though both of them hesitate to use a word like love. Their eye contact is intense, Elle finding she has to smile sometimes to keep herself from tearing up. She knows it’s mostly the intensity of sex, its chemistry and high emotions, but she is still finding it easy to feel the overwhelming entirety of recent events in such intimate moments.  
While Elle struggles to not think too much, Dean finds it hard to think at all. He’s also distracted with emotion, just one emotion really, with the occasional nod to fear. He feels his devotion in his chest, ringing like a bell, humming like a lullaby. He doesn’t know what to do with it, can’t get his hands around it, so wraps himself around her, with her, for something tangible. He doesn’t want to leave the room.


	6. Greetings and Salutations

When Dean awakes the next morning, he’s alone. He can’t remember the last time he got so much sleep in one day and wonders what will happen to his brain. Elizabeth has left a note on the biscuits: “Can’t wake such a sweet sleeper. See you soon. Xo”

In the library, Sam and Elle are talking over a laid out breakfast, their plates emptied. Elle’s gotten a dot-point summary of the family saga – how their parents were brought together, the Men of Letters, Azazel, Jess, Ruby, Lucifer, Michael, … Sam decided to give it a break when he reached Castiel and the Seals. He did manage to get Elle to tell some of her “good grief, it sounds so bloody mundane” life, stories about her work and adoptive family, and they cover the inevitable comparisons about their countries. Their conversation had reached that comfortable point where neither of them realise how much they repeat the other’s words.  
“Hey, if you ever feel like a challenge, we have a cricket mallet. You could teach us,” Sam offers, quite pleased with himself for remembering.  
“Sorry, a what?” Elle asks politely.  
“A cricket mallet,” he repeats, enthusiasm waning.  
She blinks at him. “What’s it for? Do you hunt the poor crickets too?”  
“No!” Sam leans forward, swinging his arms as if to hit something with a bat. “A cricket mallet, for playing cricket!”  
“Oh no!” she laughs. “I was imagining you with a teeny widdle mallet -” Elle adds, pretending to donk a cricket with something pen-sized, “- these big men crawling around in the dusk. Ganking crickets! But it’s called a bat. A cricket bat.”  
“Oh, okay, a cricket bat! Sorry! Well, you should teach us sometime,” he laughs back.  
“Do you like baseball? It’s like baseball on Vallium,” she explains, “it can take days.”  
“Days,” he repeats, eyebrows high.  
“Days,” Elle nods, “and soooo much beer.”

Dean walks in and Elle instantly feels self-conscious. Sam now knows more about her than Dean does. She resolves to fix that imbalance as soon as time allows.  
“Hey,” Dean starts, and collects some food. He bends over to give Elle a warm kiss before sitting by her. Sam watches the comfortable intimacy.  
“So I hear you got some sleep?” Sam says to Dean.  
“Yeah! Probably the most sleep I’ve ever had!” he grins, feeling like he could take on the world.  
“Your door still ok Elle?” Sam checks.  
“Yeah,” she replies, slightly confused. “Is your door not okay?”  
“My door’s fine. A bit thin though, I suspect,” he remarks, smiling shrewdly.  
“Oh? Oh!” Elle realises what he’s getting at and smiles. “Should we use Dean’s door? Is it better? Sturdier?”  
“No, God no, please. Your room is fine!”  
“You sure? The corridor has a good echo,” she offers, and Sam puts his hand to his face. “We really should check all the rooms, honey, for acoustic robustness,” she says earnestly, patting Dean on the thigh.  
“I’ll make a schedule,” he agrees.  
Elle begins to clear a few of the plates, Dean leans privately, “Not too inspiring I hope?”  
“Dean! Just… don’t break anything!” he whines through his smile. Dean grins at him while he eats, and Sam can’t help being happy for him, even if it’s only for a day.

“Hey, can I explain this job to you for a minute? I think we’re going to have to burn that hostel,” Sam says, gesturing to his laptop and the research he did yesterday.  
“Burn a hostel?” Elle repeats, face frowning. “Why?!”  
“Uh, there’s a thing called a changeling. It kills a child and then feeds off the child’s mother, but I think this is a parent-child set that have found a youth hostel, of sorts, and might be doing a kind of smorgasbord thing… Anyway, burning is the solution.”  
Elle looks at him, unmoving, still frowning. She shifts her eyes from Sam to the wall. Dean holds his breath…  
“How are you going to deal with the boarders? I mean, that sounds like a lot of people to avoid. Is it one of those pensions that does a lock out between 10am and 4pm?” she asks, completely distracted by the logistics of the job. “Every hostel I’ve stayed in had dodgy heaters. The ovens were usually old too.” The brothers look at her, not sure what to take from her sudden interest. “You know what? You’ve probably got that all sorted.”  
“Yeah, um,” Dean’s trying to figure out whether they should talk further in front of Elle.  
“S’all good. You kick on. I’ll catch you later,” she says as she heads for her room. Dean, saying her name, pops out of his seat to catch her hand and pulls her in for a kiss. He’s thankful she didn’t freak out about the job, and that she’s there at all. Soon enough, Sam clears his throat, and they break it up.

Over the next hour or so, Dean and Sam go over the plan for that afternoon’s hunt. Meanwhile, Elizabeth writes an email to her family. It’s long, explaining the last few weeks with a sappy story about finding a commune, thumbing it across America, picking fruit somewhere, taking a break from the pressures of ‘raising the next generation via government policy’. She alludes to a few romances, suggests a mid-life crisis of sorts, and describes her hostel. She hasn’t formed a complete, final sentence in her head, but there is a mess of words up there, thoughts and predictions jumbled together, all related to her future.

When she’s done, Elle calls her sister. Caroline is, in truth, her cousin and the only daughter in her adoptive family. The eldest sibling, Joshua, is a loving brother to Elle but Caz has been her big sis and closest friend. They were each other’s first call when they lost their virginity, on Caz’s engagement, when Elle decided to work in England, when Caz needed someone to discreetly collect her from that private boys’ college in uni.

Caz forgave Elle for all her absenteeism. She’d never felt Elle should be anything other than what she was, a relatively private person with a big bag to carry. Caz didn’t bug Elle about her life, she never made her explain and rarely judged without invitation. Elle tried to return the favour by doing the same. Their conversation was incredibly therapeutic, and they laid on the Aussie extra thick, just for the nostalgia. Elle mentioned the ‘fling’ she was having – some government stiff who wasn’t stiff at all, terribly handsome, eyes that echoed and lips that made your bones hum – enough to make a good bitch stray, and they laughed and laughed. “Holy shit, Elle, you sound like you’re in love!” “I’m tellin ya Caz, if fucking was enough to make love happen, I’d be head over heels.” But Elle didn’t reveal anything more, she merely gave more detail to her email. She just wanted Caz to know she was happy, and that she might go and get shit-faced drunk tonight too. They wrapped it up affectionately, Elle telling Caz she might head back to England in a few months, maybe Easter, and that she loved her.


	7. News

Elizabeth takes herself back to the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea is in order, and finds Sam & Dean still sitting where she left them, wrapping up their planning. If truth be told, that had finished a while ago, but they’d hushed their conversation as soon as they’re heard her coming.  
“You guys want a cuppa?” she offers causally, not pretending too hard.  
“No, thanks, we might head off soon,” Sam answers for them.

All of them hear the ruffling sound of Castiel entering the room; only Elle doesn’t recognise the noise. She's taken aback to find him there, even more so when she sees a pale, tired face and his bloodied shirt.  
“Cass! Are you hurt?” she asks, before anyone can speak.  
“Thank you Elizabeth, I’m not hurt,” he answers, a fond smile breaking through his seriousness. He has come from dark activities to deliver strange news.  
Elle’s mind races with possibilities for why he is so dishevelled. “Do you want a seat?”  
“Yes, thank you,” and he takes Elle’s old seat next to Dean, Elle sitting at the end of the table, between Cass and Sam.  
Castiel nods a greeting to Sam but stops upon looking at Dean. He notices Dean’s ease, his freshness, and realises he’s… happy. Castiel is not impressed.

“I haven’t found out much,” he starts, “information is still buried deeply. I didn’t find anything at your parent’s old house Elle except for a note from 1977 about an artefact, a page of manuscript. I’m fairly certain they were moving a portion of gospel – the Infancy Gospel of James – when you were born.”  
“James the apostle?” Sam asks.  
“James the Just, a brother of Jesus. The manuscript speaks a lot of Mary’s virginity, her immaculate conception, although that’s not necessarily connected to you, Elizabeth,” Castiel explained. “With so many angels lost in the fall it’s proving very difficult to find an ally who knows anything-”  
“Hence the blood,” Dean interjects, pointing at Cass’ shirt, while he eats.  
“Yes, hence the blood…” Castiel confirms. “There seem to be some loyalists, but I’m not sure who they’re loyal to. I found one angel who was reluctant to share any information, but he mostly spoke of retribution, a debt to be paid.”  
“A debt paid to whom,” asks Sam.  
“Nice grammar, bro,” Dean comments through his toast. Castiel looks at him sideways, annoyed at his joviality.  
“I’m not confident, but I have learned of an angel who disappeared around the time of your births: Barachiel. I suspect he’s connect somehow, but mostly out of that coincidence… I’m finding so little actual evidence. The angel I interrogated wouldn’t give any names, just referred to someone’s ‘devotion to the future of the Lord’s children’…”  
“Who’s Bachariel?” Elle asks. She’s doesn’t like the sounds of the manuscript link at all. _Too much maternity for my liking._  
“He’s an archangel, the Patron Saint of Family,” Castiel says to Elle, knowing full well that she’s detected the theme in his findings. He lays a hand on hers to show he understands.

“Sounds good Cass. What else?” asks Dean, wrapping up his meal, apparently oblivious to the undertones, and sits back. Elle removes her hand from under Cass’s and leans back in her seat too.  
“That’s all for now. I’m unsure of where to go next… I want to see if there’s a link between Michael and Barachiel but it’s a delicate issue.”  
“I think the link is pretty obvious,” Dean states, looking at Elle, trying to convey some compassion. “We just need to figure out what they actually did.”  
Everyone is a bit surprised, but Elle wants him to tread cautiously. “What do you think has happened?” she asks Dean carefully.  
“I think it’s connected to Michael’s intentions for me, and for you, for some post-apocalyptic restoration of an angelic race. I think the asshole had a God complex.” Elle can see he’s unhappy for her, for both of them, and growing angrier. She gives a slight, grim nod, remapping the concept and lets it run through her mind: _They meant for me to be a vessel. A mother._  
“Dean… I…” Castiel looks at Sam and Elle in turn, “I agree with your conclusion… You seem to be handling the idea well.”  
“Well, Cass,” Dean begins, straining a smile, “I’m not… I am that fucking furious I don’t even know who to kill.”

Castiel looks at his hands, wishing that he wasn’t associated with creatures who would do such things. He turns his attention to Elle, the easier one to console, and pats her hand again.  
“I am sorry, Elizabeth, that you were destined to be used like that,” and Cass means it, but as soon as it leaves his mouth and he sees Elle clench her jaw, levelling her eyes on him, he recognises how wretched he sounds.  
“Thank you for your remorse Cass,” Elle says, with a voice so firm Sam and Dean watch her speak, “I appreciate the effort, but that’s well short of a proportionate response… It’s fair enough – I mean, I can barely wrap my head around what this would have meant for me. But then, you know what?” she asks rhetorically, picking up a little speed, “I suspect you’d actually have an easier job of that, having actually seen some apocalyptic, new world, biblical times and shit. Fucking hell, Cass,” Elle says, now yelling “The only reason they connected to two of us is so we’d catch each other, for whatever reason, and that I’d be fucking compliant! Literally!”  
Elle gets up and walks away, shaking her hands. Dean’s upset for her, but riveted by it. Part of him wants to see how she deals with things.

“Elle,” Cass begins, standing, awkwardly, devastated to have miscalculated the moment so badly. He walks toward her as he speaks. “I’m sorry. I… I’m sure you don’t want to have to have children with Dean. I-”  
“No! Cass!!” Elle cries, watery-eyed, outraged and indignant, “Stop talking! You can’t make me feel better okay?! It’s not necessary. I know,” _Breathe, breathe, breathe, he means well…_ “I know you’re saying that you feel for me. I will appreciate it after I finish being horrified, okay?” Tears fall down her face, her speaking unsteady. “Okay?” she pleads, and Cass nods pathetically in reply, stepping close enough to reach her. “Oh shit Cass,” she sobs and falls into his chest, letting him hug her as she shakes. Sam and Dean stand at their chairs, watching someone they’ve both come to care for begin to run the gauntlet of knowing a Winchester. Deans opens and closes his fists, somewhat glad Castiel is there to comfort Elle when he’s so angry. It occurs to Sam that for all the grief this arrangement is causing, at least there is an arrangement. Lucifer wouldn’t have cared about compliance. He feels ashamed of his own jealousy, for even thinking of the comparison now.

Elle pulls away from Castiel, but only so she can get her arms around him for a proper hug. He returns it and is surprised at the kiss on his cheek when it ends. Dean is also a bit surprised, and does his best not to get jealous in his own way.  
“I’m going to keep looking,” Cass says, wiping a tear from Elle’s cheek.  
“Do you have to hurry?” Elle asks. “You should rest first, eat something.”  
“I’m okay, I have food, places to stay,” he replies. He doesn’t want to stay there and risk more conflict with Dean.  
“Okay, well,” she concedes, squeezing his hand, “Take care.” He squeezes hers in return and is gone. Elle stands agape for a moment, a breeze settling. She whispers a curse at the spectacle of watching an angel leave one’s presence.

Sam took a moment to motion to Dean, quietly speaking “Dean, we gotta go. We’ve got work to do, stuff that should’ve been done yesterday.”  
“Yeah, I know. Can we be quick?” he says in frustration.  
“Yeah, ‘course,” Sam nods and heads off to get their things.  
Dean goes to Elle, hoping she needs more affection, not a wall to kick, now that he has her to himself. When her first response is to kiss him, he’s relieved for the contact but pained to feel her lips so miserable. She holds his face gently, her hands over his ears, and he wraps his arms around her waist lovingly. Their kiss grows as Elle folds her arms around his neck and he picks her up. When he puts her down, they hug each other just for comfort over their own misfortune.

“I’d love to be all quiet and stoic and just swear and throw shit, but you’ll just have to deal with tears,” Elle explains to him. “I don’t think emotional people are weak, or crazy. I think they’re proportionate.”  
“Fair enough,” he replies, “someone should defend them… And your reaction is almost proportionate, just so we’re clear.”  
“How did you ever deal with this?”  
“It was different for me,” he reflects, “I had things to fight.”  
He pulls away to kiss her forehead, left eye, right eye….  
“Please don’t talk about what you wish,” Elle asks.  
“What?” Dean says, unsure of what she means.  
“Don’t tell me that you wish we’d met in different circumstances, or how you wish that something or other hadn’t happened, or even that you’re glad it was me someone picked. No more soppy moments. Just…” she let her fingers run along whatever they found, “you can’t ease this off with any placating crap. It’s shit from every angle.”  
“Can’t polish a turd?” Dean asks.  
“That’s it,” Elle smiles, “although you can do a lot with glitter.”  
“Sorry, you lost me. We’re doing what with glitter? I don’t do craft.”  
“I mean… we can still make this what we want,” she explains, echoing his words, looking up at him hopefully. “How are you with that?”  
“Relieved,” Dean says, kissing her cheek, burying his face in her neck. “I want to make you happy.”  
She tries to manage her beaming smile, but gives up and just holds at him a moment. “Swoon.” Dean blushes a little, but laughs to work it off.  
Elle changes the topic a little. “Speaking of making me happy, make sure you get yourself home safe and sound, okay?”  
“Sure,.. oh! Hey,” Dean remembers, “yeah, I’ll be all over that. Don’t you worry.”  
“Mmm yeah. Well, get going so you can get back,” she says, kissing him goodbye.


	8. An Intimate Family Dinner

Sam and Dean amble into the kitchen, throwing their bags on the table. Elizabeth has been reading some non-fiction from the library, learning about changelings.  
“Hey,” Elle says, getting up, “Wow, you guys smell terrible. Food first but.”  
“Hey,” Dean says, motioning her to come over. Elle shakes her head. “Hey! Come here!”  
“Nope, you’ll get smoky stink all over me!”  
“Just,” he takes a few steps to catch her hand, leans in to kiss her and Elle puts a hand on his chest, keeping the distance. They kiss again, longer. “Hey,” he repeats, this time a greeting, his face becoming easy.  
“Mmm, can I make a joke about how smokin’ you are?” Elle says and pecks him again before getting some dinner. Sam can’t help but notice how quickly they’ve become so domestic, how much Dean seems to need her contact, regardless of Sam’s presence. He’s not sure where his own discomfort comes from.

There’re some dips and crackers on the table to tide them over till food is ready. They both hoe into the finger food, each cleaning up a container of dip in about eight scoops. Sam nudges Dean, nodding to the book Elle’s been reading.  
She dishes up some lasagne, a beer each, wine for herself, and goes back to her book while they eat, not expecting any conversation. They inhale the meal, Elle heats up some lemon delicious, a new dessert for them, but it’s light and goes well with a heavy meal like meaty pasta. Half way through they begin to talk.  
“Everything go okay?” Elle asks.  
“Okay enough,” says Sam, pushing away the image of a small changeling running at him through the dark.  
“Was there any, um, collateral damage?” she checks warily.  
“No, just the monsters,” Sam answers. “But there were a lot of belongings. You were right about the lockout. Thank god none of them came back early.”  
“Early for what?”  
“I just mean, they reopened at 4pm, but we didn’t see any lodgers, even when we left at 5:30. They must have stayed out for dinner or something.” Sam figured Elle was interested after reading up on the creatures, but Dean had his own suspicions for why she would ask for detail.  
“That’s neat luck,” she says. “Hopefully they weren’t watching from the street.”  
“They wouldn’t have seen anything anyway,” Dean assured.

Their meal was done, the brothers warm and full. Sam announces he’s going to have a shower and Dean helps Elle clear the plates.  
“That dessert was pretty special,” Dean compliments, leaning against the bench.  
“Thanks,” Elle smiles warmly. “Hey, you should use my shower.”  
“Yeah?” he says, perking up.  
“Yeah, grab a change of clothes,” she says casually. “I’ll just rinse these.”  
Dean smacks his hands together, “Awesome!” and jogs off to his room.  
When Elle gets to the corridor, Dean is waiting by her door with a bundle of stuff and a towel.  
“Why are you so excited?” she asks, almost laughing.  
“Oh, I dunno!” he says, smiling openly.  
She opens the door and he rushes in. When he gets into the bathroom and turns to look at her.  
“What?” she says.  
“Aren’t you coming?” he asks, surprised.  
“No!” Elle laughs, “You still stink! Have your freaking shower!”  
“You’re coming in later?” he tries, puppy eyes and all.  
“Nope. Use soap and shampoo. Don’t get all pruney.” She says and closes the door behind him. Dean doesn’t know what to think. He soaps twice, and reluctantly shampoos twice, but will _not_ condition.


	9. Good Sportswomanship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the warnings apply here.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom he’s wearing track pants and a grey t-shirt. Elle’s still in her jeans, reading on the bed. Again, he’s a little confused, but has regained his composure. _No more happy-flappy puppy from me,_ he thinks.

He takes a seat in the couch chair closest to the bedroom door and Elle looks up from her tablet. The desk and bedside lamps are on, and the bathroom is still lit with its door open.  
“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  
“Smut.” Deans eyebrows bounce and his smile swings to one side. “Smut smut Smutty smutsmut,” she chirps plainly, neither embarrassed nor brazen.  
 _Well hello…_ he begins to get up.  
“You stay there,” Elle tells him, and moves a chair to the space in front of the bathroom door, between her bed and the desk. It is not the desk chair.

“I think,” Elle begins, sitting on the end of her bed, “that I’m at an unfair disadvantage. You have height, weight, strength, fighting experience, ‘other’ experience and a whole bunch of skills over me. I think I deserve a handicap.”  
“Really? In the name of sportsmanship?” Dean considers.  
“Sure. Whatever. How do you feel about handcuffs?” Elle asks. She rises and stands behind the chair, which faces away from the bathroom, and picks up a set of cuffs from the bedside table. Dean also stands and notices she’s carelessly left her hair things, including bobby pins, on the desk.  
“Sure,” he answers, “That sounds fair.”  
“How very decent of you, sir.”  
Dean nods graciously, and goes to sit.  
“Oh could you take your shirt off first please?” Elle asks innocently, “I can’t figure out how to work around that without scissors.”  
Elle shrugs and grins awkwardly. _Well that’s over sharing,_ Dean thinks, suddenly feeling older than her, but obliges. She smiles broadly at the result, trying not to gush.

As Dean takes his seat, he lets his hand skim across the desk, silently collecting a bobby pin in his right hand. He sits with his hands hanging by the sides of the chair, pin hiding between fingers, waiting for her to collect his wrists. He’s a little surprised to find she cuffs his left wrist to the back leg. The chair is quite sturdy, with square legs and high back rails. It also has a brace beneath the seat; a ring of wood a few inches down that reinforces the position of the legs. She cuffs him to the leg between the seat and this brace, which means the cuff can’t be slid off the leg.  
“Oh! I’ll be right back,” Elle says and ducks into the bathroom, turning on the tap. Dean looks over his shoulder and, seeing that Elle is out of sight, begins working the lock with the pin, planning to ease it open and let it hang over his wrist. He’s finding her amateur effort a bit embarrassing; _Maybe, if I can get loose, I can still rescue things._  
Before he barely begins, and masked by the sound of running water, Elle collects his right wrist and cuffs it likewise to the other leg, taking the bobby pin.  
“Nooooo,” Dean yanks on the cuffs, but they’re done up close, “Nononono”. His hands can’t reach each other. The tap is turned off. “The bobby pins…” he breathes, recognising the decoy that made him accept in the first place.  
Elle runs her fingertips from his hairline to the tips of his shoulders, enjoying how the skin pimples from the touch. She leans over to plant a clean kiss at the base of his neck. He looks down at his predicament and pouts thoughtfully through his smile.  
She rounds past him, and shifts her desk chair so that she can lean against the back of it while facing him. She crosses her arms.  
“That was, how should I say… inspired,” Dean concedes.  
“Thank you!” Elle babbles, “Honestly, I’ve never worked with cuffs before, I’m just thrilled to have gotten this far!”  
“Really?” he asks, awkwardly.  
“Lol, no,” she says dropping the façade. “I have plans. You should probably worry.” Her face is calm, sublime. She waits. His smile drops a little.  
“Where does this chair come from?” Dean asks casually, poorly hiding his surprise.  
“The dungeon.”  
Dean swallows deeply. He didn’t know she’d seen the dungeon. He decides he’ll have to ask Sam about how often it’s locked.  
“Sam showed me around,” she adds, almost reading his mind.  
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbles.  
“It gets better…” she says, collecting a length of rope from her desk drawer. She kneels in front of him and ties his ankles to the chair legs, looping the rope through the brace to keep him from sliding it off too, should he lean back in his chair. “He showed me a few knots. He says I’m a very,” she cinches the last loop, “very,” and Dean grunts a little on the last pull, “good student. I just _love_ to learn.”

Elle sits back on her foot, other knee bent in front of her chest and looks up at Dean, pausing for a minute to check he’s comfortable. He notices the lace of her bra past the navy t-shirt.  
Dean has some room to wiggle his knees and elbows, and his shoulders are relaxed, but he’s feeling pretty sure he’s stuck in that chair unless he can get another pick.  
Elle watches him think: He’s realising that he needs to recalibrate this whole thing. She can see him running his mind over the bindings, his eyes glancing around the room for anything else to help, or expect, and he looks back at her softly smiling at him, and he’s momentarily caught out. The look on Elle’s face is new and thrilling to Dean. She seems almost peaceful and, although electrified in his position, Dean’s relaxes upon seeing her kneeling at his feet _…she’s just so sweet. That vulnerable way she has of looking at me, like I’m the first guy she’s really been open with_ \- “The safety word is ‘Sam’,” she interrupts.  
His mouth drops open: _I’m gonna need a fuckin’ safety word?!_  
“Good luck” she whispers and Dean feels a thrill race down his back.

“Okay, a few preliminaries,” Elle says sensibly. “Is there anything you flat out don’t like?”  
“Uh…” Dean thinks, trying not to feel too vulnerable, topless and tied, but it’s a bit easier with her on the floor. “Well,… not much. I’m generally up for anything. But I’m not into gross stuff.” Elle gestures with her hand to elaborate. “You know, bodily fluids and shit,” he explains.  
“ _And_ shit. He’s fancy.” Elle notes. Then she stands, his head stilting back to look up at her. “Is there anything you want? Any special requests?”  
He’s not confident this isn’t a trick, feeling the shift in status, but goes for honesty. “Well, you know my distraction for nice underwear,” he smiles, “I like a strip tease.”  
“That seems a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? Me parading around in my smalls while you’re stuck there?”  
“Not to me.” Elle looks over his hair, while she thinks seriously about how much she can really be bothered to generate flirty conversation just so he can perve... It’s never proved rewarding in the past.  
Dean’s eyes travel down her buttons, to her jeans, and he decides to take a risk. “Sweetheart, if you’re not confident enough to-” but he’s cut off by Elle’s left hand on his mouth, her thumb under his chin so she can tilt his head back and look down on him. He loves it.  
She says slowly “Back away from the wheel.” She leans down further, turning his head to the side, to whisper in his ear “You know, if you shit me enough I might just go and please myself.” With her other hand, she grazes her fingernails along his ribs, right where he thinks his arm might cover him, but it doesn’t. His whole body jumps at the contact and cuffs rattle against the chair.

Elle takes a short step back, pops the button on her jeans and unzips the fly. ‘You know, I’d much prefer that you be the one doing this,” she hooks her thumbs into the front, pausing while Dean’s eyes lock on what’s revealed. “But I can’t trust you. All this upper hand stuff,” she shimmies her jeans down to her hips, and stops to talk again, “it did not take me long to decide to get your mitts out of the picture.” She turns around and bends at the hips to slide down the rest of the jeans, feeling fairly silly with his head less than two feet from her rear, but also thinking _meh, who’s it gunna hurt if he likes it_. “Especially considering yesterday performance.”  
Her panties are black, low waisted, with an inch-wide lace hem that clings over the rise of her cheeks, barely touching the crease at the top of her thigh. She moves the desk chair out of the way and kneels on the floor, by a bag near the couch chair. She knows what Dean is watching: As she slowly lowers herself onto her heels, her arse changes shape and as the cheeks separate so does the lace, accentuating the shift in her muscles, the way they open and spread. She wonders if he imagines himself beneath her. She can hear him lick his mouth for moisture.  
Elle pulls her shirt up over hear head, her waist accentuated by the action and the low lighting. She has absolutely nothing to do at this bag except fold her t-shirt and lay it down. She stands up and turns to reveal a matching pair of bra and panties. Dean looks, frankly, ecstatic. Elle struggles to not smile at his excitement.

“Why didn’t I wear my only set of matching underwear on the third day we knew each other…?” she asks pre-emptively. “Gee, I dunno. Hard to say, really. Maybe I thought it’d be arrogant. Maybe I was saving them for a sure thing.”  
The lace and silk on her bra do a fine job of presenting a natural shape, showing off the softness. “They’re nice, yes?” she prompts.  
“Yes,” he agrees.  
“You will not rip them will you?”  
“No.”  
She takes a pillow from the bed and tosses it in front of his feet, kneeling on top. Dean hopes that’s a sign of a long haul. “Don’t get too optimistic,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “I might get bored.”  
She circles a finger around his kneecap, then spreads her hand over it, taking a firm grip. Dean tenses, expecting a tickle, but it doesn’t come. “So you are ticklish?” she confirms.  
“Not really, just-”  
“Yes or no,” she says, gripping higher.  
“Yes! Yes.”  
“He _looooves_ to learn.”  
Elle leans up kisses him but it’s short and he leans forward, reaching for more as she pulls away. She ducks down to his chest, her hands caressing his arms. She works her way around, tracing the edges of muscles, getting an eyefull of his form, and settles down for a little while to look at his stomach. He’s teased by her closeness to his track pants, but long ago gave up any pretence that he didn’t have a pulsing erection.

Elle takes up the kissing again, back up his torso and zones in on a nipple, licking and sucking as he had with her. Dean’s reminded of how good it feels and lets his head float up, enjoying the warmth and caressing over such sensitive areas. Her occasional nibbles, especially the rougher ones, make him moan. Her occasional roughness, testing to see how much pain is pleasurable to him, makes him pulse from the tease.  
While she works on his chest, her hands glide over his lower back, hugging his waist. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of his pants and jocks and motions with the heels of her hands for him to lift himself so she can slide them down, past his knees.  
She ignores his lap, for a moment, and kisses him on the mouth instead, softly and deeply. But his response is passionate, his tongue fighting for depth and contact. She lets him work it out a little before pulling away and titling his head to access his jaw and neck, roughly burying herself in the dips and lines, her hand forcefully gripping the back of his neck, the other kindly on his chest. She unclips her bra and slips it off, Dean taking in the smoothness of her back and the way it moves. He tries to taste her shoulder, whatever he can reach.

In getting his pants down she’d slid him forward, his knees sticking out a little, so she could get better access. Elle lowers herself, dragging her breasts along his body, and kisses down his thigh. She runs her finger from inside one knee, right up to his hair, under his balls and back down the other side, taking some delight in the way things can move all by themselves. She strokes his balls again, gently and fondly, not forgetting the firmness beneath them , and as her kisses resume, working their way back up, she wraps her thumb and forefinger around the base of him, gently working a little. Elle nuzzles him, smiling in the curls, and she licks, slowly, from base to tip, popping her lips over the top and off again. She hears breathing hitch as he concentrates on her moves. With both hands she drags her fingers up either side of his erection, thumbs massaging the head lightly, pads of pressure by the crease, gentle pulling as she slides down again, smoothing over his balls, cupping them, massaging them. Elle checks Deans face as she works, enjoying his concentration and unconscious grasps and grunts. She rolls through the whole stimulating cycle again, several times, sometimes blowing over the area, kissing the head, repeating a part, letting her hair tickle his thighs, and at the last few times it’s all slightly quicker, rougher, tighter, heavier. Then she settles her hand just under the head, ringing that ridge, pulsing slightly up and down a few times. She pecks the tip and surfaces to his face for a passionate kiss, Dean almost panting.

Elle stands up to slide down her pants, turning as she does and throwing them into her bag, a good excuse to bend over and give Dean a passing chance at an eyeful of peach. When she looks at Dean again, he’s softly smiling at her, enjoying every second. She grabs his head with both hands and hears the cuffs snatch against the wood as she slams a kiss into him. She sits on his lap, sandwiching his hardness against his stomach with her own swollen lips and grinds a little.  
Dean groans and pleads into her mouth “Please… please I need you,” he pants, hoping they’re the magic words.  
“Mmmm,” Elle acknowledges, not intending to give over. She rolls against him again, dragging her wetness up the length of him.  
Dean kisses her away and bucks his hips toward her, his hands now holding onto the chair. “Please, baby,” he swallows thickly, “please let me fuck you.”  
Elle takes a moment to commit this to memory – the time she made Dean Winchester beg.  
But she doesn’t take too long. _I should have some mercy,_ she thinks, but still she replies quietly, crisply: “I’m not done.”  
Dean groans, predicting the comeuppance, and unconsciously pulls on the cuffs again. He wants to hold on until she releases him, but isn’t sure he can.

She collects his cock and breaths out as she lowers her open mouth over it, sending tendrils of warm air over him. One firm suck and she lashes her tongue around, flicking the tender end, pressing where her fingers did before, then plunges down, taking all he’s got. Dean sucks his teeth, desperately managing the ecstasy. One hand around his hip, the other caressing his balls, she works on him, nibbling the length, licking the edges and tips, taking him over and over, sucking, caressing, feeling him grunt and hum through her work.

Soon she can feel him start to respond with some rhythm. Elle slows and then stops the attention for a little while. She resettles herself between his legs, and lets her hair down. He’s clearly agitated, still gently rocking himself out of hope. She lays her head by his crotch, letting her hair caress him, and kisses around things affectionately, nuzzling. Dean moans affectionately, handling his frustration, and she looks up with a sneaky smile.  
Elle drops her hair elastic on the desk and collects a bobby pin. Dean is distracted by her breasts against his leg, the length of her reach and that dropping curve near her hips. She leans around and places the pin firmly in his fingers; he looks confused momentarily before she says “I’ll race you.” With a wink, she dives on to him.   
Distracted moments pass before Dean realises what she means. Elle has a literal head start, and he frantically fiddles the pin into the right position so he can undo the cuff from the chair. Elle’s pumping on him, steadily, but once she hears the rattle of loose rings, she set to a faster, stronger rhythm, sucking harder, working his balls. Dean can hardly concentrate on anything, not even sure that he wants to win, but getting a cuff off his wrist is almost second nature. It’s done quicker than he thought and he grabs Elle’s upper arms to drag her up. She pops him out reluctantly and he flinches at the aching pleasure of it. Dean collects her head, kissing her hard while he tries to contain himself, and when he breaks away, panting again and pressing her forehead to his, Elle says “Let me finish, babe, fuck me later. Fuck me as hard as you like.” He gives in and lets her drop down. He strokes her hair as she returns to her pace, and then pulls at her back, almost tilting the chair, as she brings him to a ramming climax.  
When his breathing starts to settle, Dean notices the skin on his fingers prickling. Elle deftly loosens the ropes on his ankles, lifting his feet out for him, removing the pants, and unlocks the cuff remaining on his wrist. She sits on the pillow at his feet and drinks from a tall glass of water. He has a hand over his face, half supporting it. Elle puts the glass in his other hand for him. Dean doesn’t even look up, giving a short ‘mmm’, so Elle stands and cups his chin, gently lifting his face to the glass, and runs her thumb over his eyebrow as he drinks.

“Sure you’re not being a bit dramatic?” she asks gently. Dean reaches out and finds her waist and runs his hand down over her bottom, up her hip, and back down again. When he looks at her, the different lights cast their own shadows over her shapes, and he lets his eyes take it all in again. His gaze travels, reaching her face, her framing hair.  
“Help me up?” he asks.  
“Oh my goodness gracious,” she says, “come ‘ere. You want your teeth, dear?”  
Dean shakes his head and smiles at her, standing at his full height now and regaining some strength. Smoothing her hair, he tries to explain: “Goddamn baby,… you’re good. You’re very, very… fuck… you’re just beautiful.”  
“Surely someone’s done that to you before?” Elle asks, not registering his effort to compliment. With all Dean’s experience, not once did she think that originality would be her winning card. In fact, she’d felt a little defeated from the outset.  
“No, not all that. Not like that,” he shakes his head again. “You’ve set a standard.”  
“Damn, that sounds like work,” she says as she puts the glass on the desk.  
He draws her close, and she presses herself against him, trying not to wish for more than he’s ready for. “Well, when we do my review – my Performance & Development Plan – you be sure to get nice and specific about what you liked. I’m not interested in wasting any time with you, especially not on the rare occasions I’ve got you pinned.”  
“Everything,” he assures. “I loved it.”  
“I’m serious,” she says, intending to repeat the point.  
“I shit you not Elle, I’d give up my last meal for exactly this last hour,” he says honestly. “For any hour I’ve had with you.” He looks at her, his eyes running over her face while his mind runs over the recent days. He suddenly feels sombre.  
Elle’s face, falling into empathy, rushes for a kiss to stay the emotion. It’s a still kiss, a pause, a catch of their hearts, and a hope. Elle slides to his cheek and they’re so close, eyelash to eyelash, breathing together. She asks, almost whispering, “Are you noticing the hyper-colour of all this?”  
Dean pulls away, about an inch, and looks at her. “Yeah. I am. But you know how I feel about weird crap ruining a good thing.”  
Elle thinks a moment. “I blame those green eyes. They completely throw off the scale.”

“Bed?” she offers after a bit.  
“I’m sorry, but yes please.”  
Under the covers, they wrap themselves together and Dean nuzzles into Elle’s neck, soon dozing off. Elle continues to stare into darkness, wondering if she can wait for him to wake up again, or do something for herself. _There is the shower…_ but instead she falls asleep imagining the beginnings of a dream.


	10. And Good Sportsmanship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the warnings for this one too

Later Elle wakes to refresh herself. When she leaves the bathroom to finish off the water she quickly flicks off the bathroom light, not wanting to wake Dean. She can navigate the room in pitch darkness pretty well, but doesn’t see Dean sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her. He stands before she gets there, presenting a wall of chest for her to bump into, and Elle practically yelps at the discovery, swearing as she realises it’s him. Dean holds her arms as he moves them both toward the desk, keeping her from tripping backwards.  
With Elle between him and the furniture, Dean moves his face around hers, kissing occasionally, caressing her back and hair. She can feel he is already ready, and ready to go.  
“I feel terrible,” he murmurs. Elle waits. “You did all that wonderful work. You were so good, and what did you get for it?” he mourns.  
“Wet undies,” she answers.  
“Wet undies,” he repeats and he smiles against her. “I’m not sure if you’re being mean or lying.”  
“Hmm?”  
“You should’ve pushed me to get what you wanted, to be pleased too,” he says in front of her face.  
“It’s my fault you weren’t up to a second go?” she asks.  
“Or you just didn’t want a second go. Maybe you’re not that interested,” Dean challenges. “Maybe you’re faking your affection for me.” He’s banking on the idea that she wouldn’t let that sort of inaccuracy, or such an insult, go uncorrected. He’s still learning, however, when to call her bluff.  
“I don’t _think_ I’m faking it. Maybe it should’ve been harder to sleep…,” she says, teasingly, not taking the bait. “But then if I’m lying about anything at all, well… that seems a bit mean too. I dunno… maybe I’m both.” She’s pulling off ‘complete indifference’ convincingly.  
“Elle.”  
“Mmm?”  
“Elizabeth.”  
“Yes.”  
Dean pulls away a little. “You couldn’t seriously have been satisfied with that. You didn’t have… you didn’t get… any… _thing_.”  
“Well, you were happy. And I was pretty proud of myself. That was nice.”  
“What?!” he asks, amazed. “No, Elle, I don’t care what you say, no one comes away from something as carnal as that and is ‘happy’ without getting some actual sex. Or _something_. I didn’t even touch you! That’s not right!!” He’s practically yelling at her, in the dark.  
“Geez, Dean, okay. I’m alright, you know…” she says, stroking strokes his arms to calm him a little. “Well… what do you think would balance it out?”  
“Wha- well, what do you think?!” he barks, still disbelieving her position.  
“No, I know what you mean, but there’re a lot of ways to skin a cat,” she says soothingly. “What exactly do you think would be fair?”

Dean threads his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her tightly. She can feel his frustration, but it eases off as he slides his arm under her ribs, pulling her against him before he speaks. “What would be fair is if I made you feel half-conscious with pleasure, that you made noises so loud I’d have to cover your mouth with my hand, like this” and he does, her head now between his hands. He releases her hair and drops that hand low to massage her lips with his knuckles, growling his words. “Fairness would be me licking you so thoroughly that you come on my tongue and drip down my fingers.” Elle gently holds his wrist as he works her nerves and when he pinches lightly, she moans into his hand. He bites the words into her ear, and she can feel it move her hair. “It would be _fair_ if I fucked you so hard you gasped for air and held on for dear life. It would be me reminding you of just how mind-fuckingly hot you made me tonight by giving every inch of you, just like you gave me. Then,” he removes his hand from her mouth and holds her head so they’re mouth to mouth, “it might be _near_ even.” She goes to kiss him, but he pulls away, and nudges her with his knuckles in response.  
“But, for as much pleasure as you describe… that sounds like suffering,” Elle whispers.  
“Are you suffering now?” he asks, feeling her move against him, seeking friction and depth.  
“Only as much as I usually do, when you’re near and not close enough.”  
“I’ll make it fair, if you like,” he says, nudging her with his nose, shifting his fingers to her entrance for the offer.  
“It seems important to you,” Elle says calmly, staving off losing herself a little while longer.  
“It is,” he confirms, brushing a kiss over her mouth that includes the lightest lick.  
“Then we shouldn’t make a liar out of you too. That _would_ be mean.”

He slams onto, into, her before the flag even falls. She pulls on her breath as he lifts her onto her toes with his working arm. The darkness heightening everything, Elle drinks in the sensations of his closeness, depending on all of it to help predict his next move. He lifts her onto the desk a little and pumps at her, searching for every button she has. She grabs his erection to share the action, but he pulls her wrist away, this time wrapping it behind her. Her gasps are so loud his kisses can barely cover them. He lets her back arm go to get a better hold as he moves her. Finally, she pushes down on Dean’s arm, and demands him “You, I want you,” she breathes.  
“Oh, I dunno baby, you might-”  
“You gunna be a liar?”  
“No, I-”  
“You gunna be mean?”  
“Well, there’s-”  
“I’m about to get angry,” Elle threatens. “Do what you said you were gunna do Winchester. Make me happy.” Dean collects her hips with his hands, drags his ready length down her warm wet lips and lines himself up. She holds onto him, looking into eyes she can’t see.  
“Yes ma’am,” he promises, and dives in again.

Dean had told a good story, and he made it all come true, good to the last word.

In the puffing aftermath, he bounces his kisses up her body like stepping stones and wraps himself around her again. She’s humming from the completeness of the evening, a wholly rewarding effort.  
Once again, Dean cleans up, both of them wincing from the bathroom glare after so much time in darkness. After a while, a drink, he comes back to his spot behind her on the bed, and locks her into a sprawling hug.  
“See? See how good it can be to make things fair? Why would you skip that part?” Dean scolds into her ear.  
Elle can help but smile, a silent laugh soon given away by bouncing shoulders.  
“What?” he asks, then gets up on one arm when she starts giggling. “What is it?”  
“You think I skipped a part?” she asks, smiling shamelessly.  
He flicks on the bedside lamp. She’s beaming up at him, shiny, a high rosiness in her cheeks. His mind trips over the sight and he stumbles to join in again. “You were going to give up some excellent payback-sex because…”  
“Did I?” she says, mysteriously. “Did I _really_?”  
Dean tries to recall the conversation they’d had, how he’d gotten around to…  
“You didn’t wake me up. I woke up… You couldn’t have planned that!”  
“You would’ve ‘felt terrible’ no matter when you woke,” she reminds him, with a clear brow and longing eyes.  
“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he says painfully, hiding his face in her neck, “Oh, goddamn, you played me. You played me so bad!” Elle strokes his hair.  
“I still respect you,” she consoles.  
“UuuuuuuUUUUUUh!” he growls into her neck in mock fury, but it still excites her. “I should roll you over and fuck you just for the punishment.”  
The threat makes her eyes glint as she taunts “I suppose you’d think that was your idea too.”  
“Oh that is it, no sleep for you!” Dean declares, getting the last word at least.


End file.
